


The Savage Seas

by athingofvikings



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: (There will be a different version of this fic for the explicit smut), Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Battle Scenes, Colonization, Enemies to Lovers, Imperialism, Initially drafted prior to Frozen 2 and HTTYD 3, Low Fantasy Original Age Of Sail Setting, Mostly HTTYD with a little Frozen stuff in there for flavor, Multi, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Pirates AU, Revolutionaries, Semi-Explicit Torture, Slavery, Soulmark AU, Soulmate AU, Treason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athingofvikings/pseuds/athingofvikings
Summary: There’s one pirate out there who has never been caught, who has a flair for the dramatic, some improbably advanced weapons, and is very skilled at hijacking the merchantmen ships laden with coffee and sugar for the mainland.So the governors send out their best pirate-hunter, Astrid ‘The General’ Hofferson to track him down.  And when she does confront him in a duel on the deck of his ship, she loses–because how else can you react except in surprise to the pirate saying the words that have been on your wrist since birth, words you expected to hear at a formal ball, and not punctuated by cannons?“I suppose that this dance is ours, milady, but you may lead.”
Relationships: Eret/Astrid Hofferson, Eret/Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Heather/Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Heather
Comments: 61
Kudos: 120
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	The Savage Seas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MathIsMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathIsMagic/gifts), [wikelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wikelia/gifts).



> So, here we go. I first had the plot bunny for this fic almost two and a half years ago, and I've been working on it sporadically ever since. Last year, I started working on the draft at the request of my friend and protege, astridthevalkyrie (wikelia), for her birthday, and drafted out the first act. A few months ago, I participated in the Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction, and the winner, MathIsMagic, agreed that it was acceptable to them that I could use this unpublished fic as my entry for that collection. And today is astridthevalkyrie's birthday, so while the rest of the fic will be waiting for later, consider this first chapter to be a taste of what's to come. 
> 
> So, here we go. The following was my writing statement I came up with when I first came up with the plot bunny that is now the fic summary, so I suppose that it'll work well enough as an introduction ^_^
> 
> **Writing Statement**
> 
> For the Savage Seas, what I want out of this fic is to play with a few themes on fate versus choice, especially rebelling against fate and unintended consequences, which the Soulmate Charm AU seems to be tailor-made for, plus also the theme that is one of my perennial favorites that while the people in the system may not be malicious on an individual level, the sum total of their interactions often will be callous, uncaring, or even outright malevolent. I also want to have some fun with a sort of setting that I haven’t played with before, and toy with the characters’ emotions as I take their various certainties about the world and turn them upside-down. Also, I’m a maritime geek, and getting to play with pirates and sailing ships is going to be fun for me. And lastly, I’ve never tried doing this sort of writing before, relationship-wise, where the main romantic pairing start explicitly antagonistic, and go from enemies to lovers over the course of the story; all of my prior writing experience has involved writing established relationships. So this’ll be an interesting experience for me, even with the scaffolding of the Soulmate AU to work off of. Also, again, yay, I get to play with worldbuilding again! Always fun.
> 
> I’m looking forward to this because, well, it’s such a silly premise that nonetheless has such potential for a compelling story if I pull it off well. I’m looking forward to seeing people screech at me in the reviews for plot twists and angst and betrayals and pain, and cheer at the fluff (there will be an E-rated variant version later for Teh Smutz, don't worry). And I’m going to see if I can do this in a—for me—shorter story. I’m also going to write out a more specific outline than I do usually, rather than just pants it and try to steer towards the plot points I want, and keep my prose from rambling too much. 
> 
> Above all, I want to have it such that I’m going to be humming the Pirates of the Caribbean and HTTYD soundtracks constantly as I write this; I want to have that feel, where it is HTTYD in a Pirates world, and I’ve successfully fused the two of them together.
> 
> And, yes, that will include a dramatic and climactic naval battle where the stakes are so high that when I leave it off on a cliffhanger, people will be screaming at me. And, because I’m a sucker for them, a happy ending, of course, once they’ve earned it. 
> 
> Lastly I finally, finally finally will get to use the phrase “loose cannon” to describe Ruffnut and Tuffnut in the proper context. That right there is worth the price of admission.
> 
> There will be battles, love, family, betrayal, shock, awe, philosophy, conspiracies, swordfights, swashbuckling, larger-than-life heroes and villains, domesticity, action, revolution and war. There will be all the characters we’ve come to know and love—and I’ll do my best to give them all a chance to shine. 
> 
> So, with that, let's prepare to go sailing! :D

**_Chapter 1: On Top Of The World_ **

**_Isle of Berk_ **

_One of the major islands of the Barbaric Archipelago, located in the southeastern portions of the Archipelago, on the well-named Meridian of Misery. The main settlement on the island, also known as Berk due to lack of creativity by the original residents, was colonized by the Noregi three hundred years ago as a waystation and residential settlement, and much of that character remains on this outpost, located twelve days sail north of the settlement of Hopeless, itself hardly a vacation spot. The primary interest in the location is, of course, economic, as is usual with the uncivilized environs of the Archipelago. The island’s rich volcanic soil, suitably modified and enhanced by alchemical means, allows the settlement to export significant quantities of alchemical ice-coffee, ice-sugar, frost-cotton and other cash crops back to the Noregi mainland, where they much improve the otherwise dismal quality of life._

_While it is primarily a rude agricultural and military outpost, predominantly populated by barbarous native tribes who have been civilized by dint of great effort, this port is not without its sweeter side. Fishing and hunting are popular rustic pastimes among the local elite, and the sunsets are described as charming. Some mainland customs have been imported as well, in an almost adorable emulation of more cultured environs, but overall, no matter how many formal dances the Governor (an inherited title, as per antiquated local custom, presumably because otherwise nobody would be willing to be assigned here) hosts in his quaint mansion, or the scant few poor-imitation Francian-style coffeehouses opened here, it is still an outpost of civilization at the top of the world, and that truth is exposed with every raid by wild dragons it experiences._

_—A Traveler’s Atlas, A Guide From the Center To The Edges Of Civilization_

**_Astrid Hofferson’s House, Gold Hill, Isle of Berk, Barbaric Archipelago_ **

****

The drums and bells of Berk started to sound, echoing through the night.

Dragon raid.

Astrid bolted upright out of bed and, still half-asleep, threw on her uniform overcoat as the sounds came through the wall from Eret’s room. Her aide was also awake, and while he didn’t like fighting dragons, he would help nonetheless. 

She was belting on her sword and picking up her rifle when the sharp thunderous _booms_ of the defenses started. The men manning the cannons would be firing nets up into the air to capture as many of the beasts as possible, and keep them away from the plantation fields that ringed the city before they could steal anything.

Bright lights from the alchemical lamps shone up into the clouds, outlining the dragons as they dove and flocked through the air, trying to grab livestock and any of the sacks of coffee, corn, wheat, and sugar that were prepared for shipment out to the mainland. Heading out onto her balcony, Astrid watched as they wheeled and dodged the nets, and started to load her rifle, setting the butt of the gunstock on the wooden floor, putting a charge of powder down into the barrel, ramming it down with the rod, and following up with a bullet.

Sure enough, a dragon, some torn netting dangling from its leg, came flying in towards her neighborhood, likely intent on some of the household livestock; Astrid had seen them make off with entire chicken coops before. But not this time. 

She raised her rifle, took aim, and fired. 

The flintlock showered sparks onto the powder charge and she grunted as the stock rammed into her shoulder. But her bullet flew true, and the dragon howled and flew off without landing. 

Eret came up behind her and passed her another loaded rifle, which she swapped for hers. As he loaded the discharged gun, she continued to scan the skies for any other threatening winged forms, but there were no more for now.

Without a word, but with a look of concern, Eret went back into the house. Through the open door a moment later, she could hear the distant sound of water on the alchemical cookstone coming to a boil. A few minutes later, he came back out with a cup of fresh coffee, steam coming off of the top, and handed it to her with a smile. 

She took it gratefully and set her rifle aside but within arm’s reach with the safety engaged. That settled, she took a sip. “Thank you,” she said between swallows of the hot brew. He took such good care of her.

Eventually the all-clear horn sounded, just as the sky was starting to grow light in the east, and Astrid relaxed from her vigil. 

“Third one this month,” Eret observed as they reentered her house. As they walked past them, he tapped a few of the lit glowglobes, extinguishing them. Astrid stifled a yawn. 

“Yeah. Well, winter’s over and they’re hungry, right?” she said, rubbing at her face, and then, with a shrug of her shoulders, shucking the white uniform coat. She didn’t care that Eret would see her in just her undershirt, didn’t care that it was ‘improper’ for a native man to see a noblewoman in a state of near-undress. She was a _soldier_ , first and foremost, and had been ever since she’d managed to halfway free herself of that gilded cage. In public, she’d be proper. In private, she could be familiar with her best friend and aide. 

Eret stifled a yawn of his own. “Let me make some more coffee. I don’t think more sleep is in the cards for us today.”

Covering another yawn, she nodded, but then shook her head and went behind the changing screen in her room. “Nah. Well, yes to the coffee, no to you making it. Come on, we can hit the coffeehouse and have some breakfast there.”

Eret quirked an eyebrow but nodded before giving a small smirk. “My cooking’s not _that_ bad!” he jokingly protested as she heard him go into her closet to get her another uniform jacket, this one not smudged with the remnants of gunsmoke. 

“No, but you’ve done enough already today, and it’s not like I can’t afford to buy breakfast for two,” she rebutted, pulling on her uniform shirt and pants. “Besides, we have an appointment with the Governor in a few hours, remember?”

“Right, right,” Eret said, and slung the white jacket over the top of the screen. “About that…”

She stuck her head out and around the edge of the screen. “About what?” she asked.

“Well, I might have taken your whole fortune and spent it,” Eret said, only the twinkle in his eye giving away his joke.

She played along. “On what?”

“Wool futures, I’m afraid,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes and got back to dressing. “Eret, if this is another setup for another ‘I pulled the wool over your eyes’ or ‘it’s a long yarn’ joke, I will hurt you.”

There was a long pause from the other side of the screen, and then, sounding exaggeratedly hurt, Eret said, “You didn’t let me finish.”

Pulling on her jacket and buttoning it, she came back around the screen, reached up to cheerfully pat Eret on the cheek and said, “I just decided to sheer it off myself this time, and save you the baaa-ther.”

The look of sheer offense he threw her was practically poetic, and then he started laughing and mock-clapping. “I taught you well!”

She rolled her eyes again and gave a slight huff, even as she couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “Come on.” She grabbed her sword belt off of the hook it hung from and belted it on as she made for the door.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eret chided, and held up a hand.

Astrid huffed, but presented herself for inspection. 

Eret paced around her, checking that she was sufficiently presentable for a walk through the streets to the local coffeehouse, and she kept a scowl off of her face through sheer force of will. She was a _soldier,_ Thordammit! The fact that she was also an aristocrat and a _woman_ shouldn’t count in her effectiveness in fighting!

But people judged, and judged _her_ , so she had to keep up _appearances._

He adjusted her swordbelt to be within regulation limits, dusted some lint or something from the epaulets of her jacket, and stroked his chin in thought for another moment before handing her the white gloves from her uniform. “All right, there we go,” he said, just as he did every morning. 

“So I don’t disgrace the honor of the service while walking down the street?” she asked dryly. He always seemed to find some little detail to fix, and she appreciated it... but her tone came from the necessity of it. 

“Precisely!” he said jovially, pulling on his own darker jacket and closing the buttons.

With a scoff at the sheer pretentiousness of her white uniform—which was still better than the _gowns_ she would have had to wear once upon a time, before she’d proven herself to be a competent fighter—they left her unassuming house and walked in mostly silence down the well-kept streets of the nobles’ quarter of Berk. 

And Eret was right about one thing; Astrid felt like she was being judged with every house front that they passed by as they made their way down the side of the hill, with every well-kept garden seeming to be filled with eyes.

The Saami gardeners who actually kept up the place for their ‘betters’… she didn’t know what they thought. She’d never had the courage to ask Eret. Did they see her as just another conqueror coming in and strutting about, or as someone more sympathetic thanks to Eret?

On the other hand, as much as he was her friend, they didn’t dare show that in public, for fears of accusations of ‘fraternization’. Yes, she was the governor’s protege, yes, she had proved her competence and her merit, but…

She eyed a trio of young women her own age walking down the hill in fancy, impractical gowns, carrying parasols, and met their judging gazes before looking onward.

But she still heard them speak as they passed the trio.

“Thinks she’s a soldier, that one.”

“As good as a man? Right. And what’s with the beefcake she’s got following her? Is he supposed to hold her coat and fan her when she faints?”

Astrid clenched her fists in her gloves but didn’t give any other indication that she’d heard them. Coffee and pastries. That was her goal right now. 

At the base of the hill, she paused and looked back up at the sumptuous houses that lined it; gardens, some ornamental, some more practical, also covered the side of the hill, with the Governor’s mansion at the peak. Her own house was barely visible, despite being fairly low on the hillside, and downright modest in comparison to the rest, but that was fine with her; it was mostly a place to sleep and store her possessions. When she married, when she heard the words marked indelibly on her arm, she had every intention of staying _independently_ wealthy, thank you very much. As such, blowing her fortune on a status symbol would be the height of foolishness. After all, getting the entire reward for an entire pirate crew plus ship and cargo awarded to just her wasn’t an everyday occurrence, pirate hunter or no!

But the well-manicured hillside was a stunning contrast to the more middle-class housing they walked through now… and the slums on the far side of the island. Meanwhile, the harbor fortress seemed to overlook the city with a sullen air, even though it was physically located at the lowest point of the city, with the harbor protected behind the arcs of its guns. 

Even at this early hour, she could see that the harbor was bustling with activity, longshoremen and sailors and soldiers moving about, and they would have an appointment there after breakfast.

But first… breakfast itself.

They approached the coffeehouse; there were a few scattered through the city, catering to the social expectations of a mainland lifestyle. The elders didn’t like them that much, but that was all right with Astrid—they didn’t like her either, and the feeling was mutual. And the reason for their dislike was that, once she walked through the door and the bell chimed, rank meant _nothing._ In this place, it was just what you could say that mattered, not who you were born to…

Or, she thought as Eret followed her in and helped her with her coat, despite her protests, _what_ you were born _as._

Entering the main room, Astrid grinned at the brewer, a blond half-Saami man named Kristoff, from his place behind the bar. “Two of the usual, Kristoff,” she said.

“Ah, good morning, Ms Hofferson,” he said with a smile, deliberately using the diminutive title, as was the place’s custom—half of the reason why she loved coming here. “It’ll be right up.”

“Thanks, Kristoff,” she said, smiling as she paid—and gave a generous tip.

He smiled and turned through the window to the kitchen to the cookstaff, and started to brew up their coffee. 

As they waited for their food, Astrid looked around the room; a number of glowglobes cast variable light over the various nooks, crannies and conversational circles that filled the place, in between the curtains that subdivided the rooms and helped keep down on noise and gave at least some modicum of privacy. But the main room, where most people just went to eat, was currently about three-quarters of the way full. A number of discussions and arguments were already underway, the voices overlapping. 

She turned back to the counter just as Kristoff’s girlfriend, Anna, was putting their food on some trays. Their open sandwiches sat neatly next to Kristoff’s freshly brewed coffee, with black bread with smoked fish and cheese and a cup of espresso with cream and sugar for Astrid, and rye bread topped with fried eggs, a cup of yogurt topped with fruit, and a cup of cold brewed coffee with steamed milk for Eret.

As always as they claimed their food, Astrid pointedly eyed the yogurt. “I thought you were an adult.”

“But I’m a growing boy!” Eret protested jovially.

“You’re not supposed to be growing sideways!” she chided cheerfully, and they made their way to an open spot, passing various conversations in progress.

“—the new telescope should be able to resolve such details about astronomical phenomena—”

“—refuse to believe that every action we take is dictated—”

“—more unrest, I heard. The governor of Freezing ordered his troops to restore order—”

That last one made Astrid wince as they walked past. While she’d never had to engage in the sort of ‘peacekeeping’ the man was referencing… it was becoming more and more common as the mainland powers kept tightening their grips on the Barbaric Archipelago—and it was Eret’s people that were feeling the squeeze. 

Other conversations floated past, on philosophy, science, history, politics, religion… some interesting, some dominated by insufferable bores. Or, in other words, the usual for a morning in one of Berk’s most popular coffeehouses, where the food was good, the cost was more than acceptable, and the customs of the place allowed for anyone to raise their voices and join in without censure. 

She _did_ wish that there were more women in here; only about a quarter of the room was female. But that would take time and effort. Effort, at least, that she could expend to show that women were worthy.

So, tray in hand, she found a group discussing less _fraught_ politics—specifically that of the mainland, weeks and weeks out of date, and more of a theoretical exercise—and sat down. Eret joined her, and they listened and ate. As she finished her sandwich, she noted that the latest speaker—a tradesman of some sort—was rambling on and on with vast degrees of incorrectness. Not even on his opinions, which were absurd, but on the basic facts of geography—the pair of nations he was predicting to go to war in the next year not only did not share a border, there were two nations and a few significant rivers _in between_ them. 

She considered interrupting him to correct him, but after a few moments’ consideration and examination of the others in the group, thought otherwise. She wasn’t the only one to hold that opinion, and she would make a better impression when correcting him if she gave him the courtesy that he almost assuredly wouldn’t give her.

When he paused for breath and a swallow of his own coffee, she _hmm’_ d, and spoke up quickly. “Well, that was interesting, but how do you think that the Franks and Polska would deal with having to fight through the Deutchlanders or the Danes? I imagine that they might take exception to the foreign armies marching through,” she asked innocently, before taking a sip of her own coffee—and relishing the look of sudden panic in the man’s eyes, especially as several others in the group echoed the same question. 

She watched him try to correct course, leaning back in her seat with a smile. Eret coughed in her ear and whispered, “That was mean.”

“Brought it on himself,” she said back. 

“Indeed. We should get going soon, though,” Eret said, glancing at the clock in the corner, merrily ticking away. 

She nodded, and they rose and returned their plates and cutlery to the kitchen staff, who promptly dropped them into the vat of alchemical cleaning solution, soon to be ready for use by the next set of patrons.

Exiting the coffeehouse, they turned onto the street; with the day in full swing, the traffic was bustling, with pedestrians and horse-carts vying for position. Mindful of her pure white outfit—and she still wondered whose idea _that_ had been—she dodged the messier bits, in multiple senses of the word, as they made their way down to the harbor and past the merchantmen which were being loaded with goods to be shipped to the mainland. Sugar, coffee and wheat in their sacks were being loaded aboard the wide-beamed ships by cranes, next to the forbidding iron-shod caskets of preserved dragon parts being loaded aboard a fast cargo ship, slimmer and with more sails—and guns—than the regular merchantmen. Those materials, harvested from the dragons who attacked the port, would be returning under escort to the mainland, due to their worth to the alchemical industry, and the military applications many of them had. 

Once Astrid and Eret had cleared the frenetic longshoremen loading the merchies, they made their way to the fort and identified themselves. They… or, being more honest, _she_ and her aide, were quickly escorted into the Governor’s office, where the Governor, his own aide, and the general were already waiting.

She saluted crisply as she walked in, not just out of the requirements of rank, but because she honestly and sincerely respected the man she stood before—the man who was her leader and her mentor, who had given a girl who had shown that she could fight a chance to prove herself. “Commander Astrid Hofferson, reporting for duty, sir!”

Governor Stoick Haddock looked up at her from his desk and smiled. “At ease, Commander,” he said.

She relaxed to parade rest, and heard Eret shift as well behind her. 

Stoick eyed her. “Now, I have a new assignment for you, along with a few other bits of housekeeping.”

“Sir,” she said in acknowledgment. 

“First, your general assignment,” he said and stood. As he walked around the desk, he said, “You’ve become one of our best pirate hunters, and now I’m sending you after one in particular.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“The one that goes by _Night Fury,_ ” he said. 

The General, Stoick’s half-brother Spitelout Jorgenson, spoke up. “In particular, your assignment is not to kill him, but to bring him in alive, and healthy, and prepared to be shipped to the homeland.”

Astrid cocked her head. “Huh?” Pirates plagued the waters of the Archipelago, but generally they were viewed as scum who were only kept alive for their trial, sentencing and execution. To have one be specifically ordered to be kept alive…

“You have questions, Commander?” Stoick asked.

“I do, sir,” she said. “I’ve read the basics of the Night Fury, and while, yes, his attacks are dramatic and expensive, as far as I know, he’s gone out of his way to avoid killing anyone on the ships that he loots—despite what the rumors say.” She shrugged. “I mean, he has a _reputation_ for being ruthless, but it just seems to be just that—stories. I’ve only found cases where he’s fired for effect in self-defense. Compared to some of the more bloodthirsty pirates out there, like Griselda the Grievous, or Ragnar the Rock—the ones who take slaves or just butcher everybody they can, or who take treasure ships… a flamboyant pirate who seems to make a hobby of hijacking merchantmen filled with coffee and sugar…” She shrugged. “He just doesn’t seem to be as important.”

The governor’s aide, Gobber, smiled. “That is a good threat assessment, Commander, and ordinarily you’d be right—although don’t downplay the economic impact of his raids. The value of those shipments he’s stolen are significant on their own—he could easily fund a small war with those, given the sale values on the mainland.”

She shook her head. “His laundering costs—middlemen, smugglers, customs officials, and the like—would eat up too much of it, I think.”

“Again, that’s a valid point,” Spitelout said. “But that’s not the reason why we’re sending you after him.”

“Sir?”

Stoick leaned in. “There’s one detail that we’ve kept _out_ of the reports,” he said.

“Sir, if you censor the reports, then we can’t make good decisions—” she started to protest, only to stop as he raised his hand.

“Commander, let us explain,” he said.

She halted and nodded.

“Yes, the Night Fury is flamboyant… but that seems to be a distraction,” Spitelout said. “Because it distracts from the fact that there’s something… _odd_ about his weapons.”

“‘Odd’, sir?” she echoed.

“That’s the other part of your assignment, but a lower priority than capturing him,” Stoick said. “Try to capture any of his weapons that you can, because we have _substantiated_ reports of ‘odd’ weapons. Cannons firing repeated rounds in a matter of seconds, for example… and exploding shot, for another.”

Astrid blinked. “He has exploding cannon shot?”

Gobber nodded. “That seems to be our best guess, based on the reports. And right now, that’s the golden apple of weapons development back among the mainland nations,” he said.

Spitelout took over. “It’s our theory that he’s working for someone else as a privateer—as deniable testbed for some other nation back home to try out their new weapons and work out the kinks in actual combat.”

“And if that’s the case…” Stoick said heavily, “then we need to find who his backer is, and possibly develop some of these weapons ourselves, or face being outclassed on the battlefield.”

She swallowed. “I… I see, sir.”

“You now have access to the unredacted reports,” Gobber said, and handed Eret, who had been watching silently from the wall by the door, a stack of papers. “Come up with a plan, and we’ll see what we can do to execute it.”

“Of course,” she said… and then an idea came to her mind immediately. “Actually, sir, I have a thought?”

“That was fast,” Spitelout observed.

“Well, sir, if the objective is to capture him, not kill or send his crew to the bottom, then we need to get creative. And if he has more powerful weapons, as you suspect, then we should get _him_ to come to _us_ …” she said, and started to outline her general concept—which was well received by the governor and the other two men. 

They settled in, and over the next hour, specifics to her plan were hammered out. Objections were raised and analyzed, and comments were made about the ‘unorthodox’ nature of what she was suggesting—to which she pointed out that being unexpected would _help_ with success for her stated mission goals. 

Finally, the Governor went over to his desk and wrote out the orders for her plan, stamping it with his seal. As he handed it to her, she smiled tiredly, and then in turn she handed the papers to Eret so that he could get things started. A part of her took vicarious enjoyment in the knowledge that he would get to order people about using it—and she trusted his competence in getting the preparations done right. 

Tired from the mental exertion and with Eret on his way, Astrid slumped in her chair by the window in the office. But her relief was short-lived, as she came back to attention when Stoick brought over a few other pieces of paper. “I’m also going to assign Corporal Henrik and his partner to you, to bring up your crew numbers.”

She took the proffered pieces of paper and skimmed them quickly. “Oh! New soulmark?”

Stoick nodded. “Aye, and a useful one at that; a fairly potent battlebond.”

Astrid considered that and whistled. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. One battlebonded soulbond pair were the tactical equivalent of anywhere from eight to a dozen ordinary soldiers, if she remembered the statistics correctly, especially in the complicated conditions of shipboard combat. It was one of the few ways that women would be allowed to serve in war, and for a moment, she was envious of Henrik’s new gods-granted spouse, this Terese, who had been given what Astrid had fought for. 

She suppressed that envy, and in the next moment found herself wondering when her own soulmark would come to fruition. Marked across her arm were the first words that her soulmate would say to her directly, and marked on his or her limb were the words that she would say in kind. 

With a shrug, she dismissed the thought, as she always did. It would happen when it happened, and she just hoped that she wouldn’t have to give up everything that she’d worked for once that occurred. At least it helped as a defense against unwelcome suitors…

As if he could read her mind, Stoick said fondly, “Now, if you set sail on your intended schedule, you’ll miss the Spring Ball.”

She sighed. “You mean I get to miss having man after hopeful man come up and try to be the one to trigger this?” She tapped her forearm. “Oh no. Whatever shall I do. Sir,” she deadpanned.

Stoick snorted. “Astrid,” he said familiarly, and with that lowering of formality came the shift from governor and soldier to mentor and protege, “You know that there’s a great deal of attention on you and how you do. While I support you, you still have to at least put in the basic effort to appear as a lady of your blood and standing.”

Astrid sighed.

Stoick smiled and reached down to pat her head. “Ah, don’t you worry, lass. It’ll come. But you’ll always be my crazed pirate hunter, have no worries.”

She grinned at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good. Now get going,” he said. “We’ll start prep on this and see if we can get you underway by tomorrow’s tide.”

She rose, collected her papers and left, heading to the harbor. 

Juggling the documents in her arms into some semblance of order, she found that she’d accidentally taken one of Stoick’s copies, and turned around to return it to him. But at the door to the office, still open a crack, she paused, hearing voices coming from within—Gobber’s, specifically.

“—Stoick, I know that you don’t want to hear this, and I don’t want to be the one to say it… but—”

“Gobber, if you don’t want to say it, then don’t!” Stoick’s voice came back.

“Stoick,” Gobber said softly and supportively, “it’s _been_ seven years. More. It’s time to declare him dead and move on. I’m sorr—”

“No! My son is _not dead!”_ Stoick bellowed angrily.

Astrid turned around smartly and made for the docks, posthaste.

The document could wait for later.

#

**_Fast Merchantman_ Surprise Squall, _Berk Dockyards, Isle of Berk, Barbaric Archipelago_**

****

Astrid looked down at her new ship from the quarterdeck, her hands clasped behind her back, standing in a comfortingly battered sea-coat as she overlooked the organized chaos going on below. 

Her logic was simple. She needed to capture this Night Fury—appropriately named for one of the rarest and most elusive of dragons. And she needed to take him alive, and unharmed. Oh, and also capture his ship.

So while she was completely willing and capable of blowing a pirate ship to Aegir and Rán’s keeping—and had done so in the past, when necessary—the fact remained that she needed to keep fighting to a minimum. Cannons were not exactly precision weapons, after all. 

And even if her analysis of the pirate’s dossier—the _full_ dossier—was correct, and he liked to avoid inflicting unnecessary casualties, there was no way he’d let her usual ship, a fast and sleek frigate named _Stormfly,_ close enough for a boarding action without a lengthy cannon duel.

As such, her plan was simple: Let him come to her. 

The Governor had impressed one of the usual merchantmen which carried that cargo to the mainland for her, and she was packing the hold with marines and sailors instead. To keep things as covert as possible, wary of the possibility of spies in the port, they’d dressed her crew out of the slops chest, instead of in their regular uniforms, and were ostentatiously loading up the ship with all of the coffee they could—packed around extra cannons that were being stowed belowdecks. The coffee, however, wasn’t staying; it was getting smuggled out in smaller satchels surreptitiously; according to Eret, some of the beans had made the trip on board and then back off three times now. 

And _some_ of her people were taking the permission of dropping their professional standards down to that of civilian seamen with _far_ too much enthusiasm, she noted with narrowed eyes.

“Ruffnut! Tuffnut!” she barked, and the pair of enlisted gunners, second class, paused in their horsing around and looked up at her. 

She gave them a flat look. She generally _liked_ the pair, and they were artists with a cannon, especially their chase armament, able to put the shot from a long-nine into a fleeing pirate ship more often than not, but their clowning around by jokingly riding the cargo nets and ‘accidentally’ splashing other members of the crew was reaching a limit.

They both saluted—formally at first, and then, as if remembering the charade that they were supposed to be perpetuating, more sloppily. 

“Sorry, Captain!” Ruffnut said. “Just… high spirits, you know?”

“It’s going to be great! Like something out of the old sagas,” Tuffnut added.

She scowled at them, even if her heart wasn’t really in it. “Well, I don’t remember the old sagas having anything about sailors horsing around while there’s work to be done! So get to it!”

They both saluted again, too crisply as if on reflex, laughed and ran off to help with loading the gear they’d need. 

Eret came up from behind her. “Preparations are on schedule, despite the twins,” he said, checking a piece of paper. “The carpenters will have the gunports cut by the time we leave port, and we’ll have enough cannons aboard to give a good punch. But the planking is a lot thinner than it should be for a real warship, so if it comes to a pounding match, we’re in trouble.”

“Well, that’s the whole point,” she said. “A typical pirate crew will have enough hands for a boarding party and prize crew, yeah, but they’re used to taking merchies with a crew of, what… thirty to fifty?”

“Aye, I know. And we’re going to have a hundred marines aboard instead,” Eret said. “I’m just… this is a risk, you know.”

She sighed through her nose. “I know, Eret. But you know what our orders are. And I think that this is our best option for achieving them, and the Governor and General agree.”

He nodded. “I know. And, well, most pirates aren’t anywhere as disciplined as anyone under your command!” He scoffed. “Draga tavern scum, most of them.”

“True, but if they’re privateering for another nation,” she said, “then there’ll be naval regulars among them.”

“Point, but that carries its own risks,” he rebutted. “Resupply of casualties, for one. Desertion, for another. So if they have any, it’ll be among the officers, I say.”

She nodded. They’d talked it around in the Governor’s office already, and come to the same conclusions. The whole idea of a privateer was to be _deniable_ when it attacked the ships of rival nations—and putting a naval captain from your own nation in charge of the ship was a good way to point a finger at the culprit. But if it was a live-fire testbed, then how would they keep homesick sailors from jumping ship at any port and desert? Draga, in particular, was notorious as a place where sailors would do just that. Oh, certainly, they could be screening their sailors for loyalty, but that would take a tremendous amount of effort… and at that point, they wouldn’t be the primary investigators out here in the Archipelago. No, they’d be looking into it on the mainland…

She hoped, at least. Because otherwise it meant that they were missing something. 

Down below, another load of cargo was descending into the hold, and she watched it go. She just hoped that this would work, because Eret was right—if it came to a broadside duel, she and her crew were in _trouble._

Still, that was the job. Defend and protect… and be ever so grateful that she wasn’t being called to put down rebellions. 

Just pirates.

#

A week later, Astrid looked out across the misty-covered seas at the closing pirate vessel, and muttered to herself, “Come _on._ Come in nice and close…”

The other ship kept closing in on her apparently defenseless merchantman, flying a pirate flag—and she had to fight to keep from grinning, mindful of the possibility of spyglasses, when she saw the curled Night Fury, red and black outlined with white and red on a black banner, flying from the foremast.

_Gotcha._

Turning, she shouted orders to her crew to make it seem that they were trying to escape the pirate vessel—and that they were incompetent in the bargain, with the sails being set improperly for the wind.

Down below, she knew, her marines and gunners were lying in wait, having cleared for action as soon as they’d spotted the pirate ship closing with them. 

It was time to do this.

A single cannon shot fired from behind her, and in front of her ship, the water geysered.

A warning shot. How polite!

A bellow came across the water. “Hello the ship! Surrender and prepare to receive boarders!” 

Astrid bit her lip as the other ship started to lower a launch, filled with men, and considered the wind conditions. The other ship had the weather gauge, but they were closing… closing…

_“Now!”_ she bellowed, and Eret, at the helm, spun the wheel, sending her ship closer to the pirate, even as the sails flapped uselessly, the wind suddenly blowing at them from the wrong direction. But they still had enough momentum to close… a bit…

Her crew boiled up out of the belowdecks, and the pirates reacted with surprise. The launch abruptly turned around and fled back to the pirate ship as her crew carried the small-gauge guns up from the hold and mounted them to the railing.

“Ready!” Ruffnut called from her place by one of the guns; it was either a small cannon or a _very_ large musket, depending on how you drew the line, with a bore of two inches. But it wasn’t loaded with a cannonball.

Astrid shouted, “Fire!”

With a grin Astrid could see from her place atop the quarterdeck, Ruffnut touched her burning slowmatch to the gunhole and it barked with a sharp concussion, sending the harpoon and attached rope screaming across to the pirate ship, where it embedded itself in the hull planking up past the barbed harpoon head. Immediately her people started to haul themselves in closer with the rope wound around the capstan, dragging the pirate ship in as if it were an anchor. Tuffnut fired his gun, and another harpoon and rope caught onto the pirate ship, and then another. 

The pirates were trying to get away, she could see that much, but she _had_ them.

“Yes!”

The pirates, seeming to realize their situation, changed their tactics as well, and swarmed up on deck themselves, guns and blades at the ready.

With a grin, she saw the pirate captain, presumably Night Fury himself, dressed in dark leather armor with a stylized dragon on the shoulder, an emblem which matched his flag. 

There. There was her objective. 

And her ship was a lot bigger and taller than his. This was her chance, as her crew took on his, she could end this cleanly.

So she grabbed a rope and swung over to the pirate ship, followed by a number of her crew also using the height advantage of their larger—if tubbier—vessel. 

Letting go of the rope, she dropped into a roll, came out of it only a few feet away from the pirate captain, and drew her sword.

He blinked, and a smile grew across his face. “Well. I suppose this dance is ours, milady, but you may lead.”

Astrid froze. _What had he just said?_ No, no, no… it wasn’t possible…

She almost convulsively ripped at her sleeve and then started to swear at him in anger and denial. 

“Oh fucking Hel, _no!_ You fucking have to be fucking kidding me!? You!?”

That wiped the smile off of his face, and he did the same near-convulsive spasm to his own wrist in shock and surprise. 

But there was no denying it—not when the words on her wrist, black as ink for as long as she could remember, were now scintillating and dancing with color. 

As were the words on _his._

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to wish my friend Astridthevalkyrie (wikelia) a happy birthday, and hope that she enjoys what we have here. And I also want to give a tremendous thank you to HeathenVampires, ShipMistress, Dischord, Kalessin, Aleteia and Nymphie for helping proof and soundboard ideas for this fic. Thank you all :)


End file.
